Somewhere Before
by HashtagLEH
Summary: They tell him his name is Steven. They say he was found by a passerby in an alley, and the Good Samaritan had called 911. A mugging, they say. All the cash inside his wallet was gone and he was left for dead. (He remembers none of this. [He doesn't remember anything.]) But then one day someone walks in to his work, and he can't help thinking...that man looks very familiar.


**Okay okay okay I know I shouldn't be posting another fic that is going to turn into a multi-chaptered story before my other ones are finished, but I couldn't help it. I've had this idea written out for a while and I kept thinking about it, so I finally just decided to write it. Hopefully you guys love it as much as I'm excited for it!**

 **...**

They tell him his name is Steven. Steven Rogers, to be more precise. They say he was found by a passerby in an alley, and the Good Samaritan had called 911. They tell him that they discovered who he was much easier and more quickly than they usually would unconscious victims that came in because of the wallet with the picture ID card inside sitting right next to him when he was found. A mugging, they say. All the cash inside was gone and he was left for dead.

He remembers none of this. He stares at his ID card, with the picture that looked like him but didn't _feel_ like him. He traced a finger over the shiny stamp on the card, wondering if he'd liked living in New York. Did he dream of living somewhere else, or did he prefer the noise of Manhattan so close by?

He has no family – they've checked, they assure him. His father died in Afghanistan soon after he was born, and his mother died of lung disease when he was eighteen. No brothers, no sisters, no friends – no one was listed as his emergency contact, even. He'd lived in the same apartment for six years, never talking to anybody or sticking out. No one had noticed he'd gone until he missed on his rent, which was apparently a rarity. For all intents and purposes, he is a ghost.

He wishes he had someone to talk to – someone who'd known him, and who he was before he'd lost all of his memories. Maybe with someone familiar they would have been able to come back. But it's more a faint wish than anything – like someone wishing to fly unattended and knowing it will never happen, so not bothering to hope for it.

He supposes he ought to be more worried than he was about his memory loss, but he can't bring himself to. Something inside him feels – empty. Like it doesn't really matter – like _nothing_ really matters.

He knows this is not an attitude someone should have, so he never voices it. He fakes an appropriate amount of worry as the doctors explain how the trauma to his head had likely caused the memory loss, though they aren't certain, and perhaps he had a mental trauma right before the mugging that enabled the amnesia? Steve doesn't know, and only nods when they say that the physical injuries have healed during his five week coma.

Even so, perhaps he should be more concerned with the news that an anonymous donor has footed all of his medical expenses. There is a slight sting as something prideful in him raises its head at the news, but he accepts it, because he doesn't know how he could pay for the no doubt high bills on the artist's job they tell him he has. Apparently he is a freelance illustrator, and when they show him how to check the balance on his debit card, he sees that he has at least a few thousand dollars to get him by. Knowing that it's not near enough to pay even a third of his bills, he backs down, even when a voice in the back of his mind grates on him for doing so.

They release him after being sure that there is nothing more they can do for him, that he has to do the rest on his own. He'd bounced back fairly quickly after waking up, his muscles not as weak as most coma patients' were, so he accepts he doctor's instructions that he'll have to go to physical therapy for a couple of weeks just to be sure he's alright and then promptly forgets it.

Well. Not _forgets_ it, because he has autobiographical retrograde amnesia – where he forgets his past and not how to use his motor functions – not anterograde amnesia. But he definitely doesn't pay attention to the doctor's words. Something in him tells him that this – not caring what the doctor has to say – is nothing new. He wonders if he was a troublesome child because of that attitude, before promptly dismissing the thought because he knows he'll never be able to know that for sure.

He goes back to the apartment listed on his ID, and stays there for all of a week before deciding it's not the place for him. _Nothing_ feels familiar, and he knows that staying there isn't helping. And something in him feels sad when he goes out in the neighborhood and down the streets, like he's missing something more than mere memory loss. So, he makes the decision to leave.

Apparently he owned a motorcycle – yet _another_ thing he doesn't remember – but it's muscle memory when he drives it so he supposes he'll be safe enough. His body knows what to do even when his mind doesn't. He drives, and keeps driving until he finds a place to stop, a place that feels right.

He stops in D.C., the first place that feels somewhat familiar to him. Perhaps he'd been there before, or maybe he just liked how the Washington Monument looked at night, but he decided to stay there. It's not even that far from Manhattan, should he ever decide to go back there.

He searches all day, and maybe it's luck, or maybe it's fate, but he finds the perfect apartment to stay at shortly before dusk. Okay, so the apartment wasn't perfect and it didn't even feel remotely familiar, but he likes the guy who lives across the hall, who chatted with him while he was looking through the apartment. The guy renting out the apartment had left him at the front door, telling him he'd had a bad lunch before running off with a quick comment that he'd be back soon. His now-neighbor had come up just as the landlord was running past, and he'd struck up an easy conversation before going with him through the apartment.

Surprisingly, the conversation wasn't awkward or stilted. Any of the conversations Steve has tried to have in the past couple of weeks since waking have stalled thanks to his amnesia and not having the faintest clue what to talk about. But the neighbor didn't let this deter him, and the conversation continued to run smoothly as they went through the empty apartment. Even after Steve is done walking through and hearing of the gossip of other people living there and possible problems with the apartment itself (based on the other guy's experience with his own mirrored apartment and what he could catch from the previous neighbor), they stand casually at the front door and continue chatting as they wait for the landlord to return.

By the time thirty minutes have passed and the landlord finally comes back, Steve decides to move into this apartment purely so that he'll have Sam Wilson as his neighbor.

 **...**

 ***evil laugh***

 **So I have a few ideas for this, mainly for how I want pairings to go, but I can't decide. Maybe you guys can help! I'm considering Steve/Sam, Steve/Bucky, and Steve/Bucky/Tony. Which do you guys prefer to see here?**

 **ALSO: I'm debating whether or not I want skinny!Steve or buff!Steve - your thoughts? Which one is chosen will depend on where I end up putting him at work in the normal world and all that, and that can change the story as much as anything. If you don't care either which way, tell me where you want him to work!**


End file.
